Second Chances and Second Times
by Defectibilitas
Summary: Smut, angst and then some. Is set during the missing year, Regina struggles with her feelings for Robin after she finds out about the lion tattoo. Contains a lot of feels and, well, smut.
1. Chapter 1

**Second Chances and Second Times**

He should have seen the signs, he should have noticed. He should have acknowledged they were there the moment he felt it. But he'd ignored it. He should not have ignored it, but no. No. What he really should have done was leave when he had felt those first sparkles plague his insides, he should have put miles between her and that damned castle then. He should have.

But it's too late now.

Her skin so soft beneath his touch, a trail of goose bumps forms where his fingers trace upwards. She shivers, rolls onto her back, providing him with a generous view of her exposed chest, naked before him. He smiles. Bashful she is not, hadn't been the entire night. She had been direct, controlling even, but then so had he; a constant battle of wills, fierce, yet at the same time wanting of the same thing in a way that makes him think she can read his mind.

He presses his lips to her shoulder, nips the flesh beneath his teeth, then smiles against her skin when her breath hitches and her eyes flutter close.

'This means nothing,' she murmurs under her breath, almost too soft for him to hear, but he catches it, feels it tug at his insides. It means nothing, yet…

The way they'd reached for one another the night before; seven months of tension and hate filled glances had burst free. Their kisses frantic, their love making wild, angry almost, he'd drawn blood more than once, but then so had she. His lip cut; red crusted bite marks on his shoulders and neck.

She reaches out, one of her hands winds around his neck and he knows, he knows that he should turn away, leave because it means nothing and he doesn't know if he wants another round of emptiness, but he can't help himself, finds her eyes captivating and he realizes what he truly wants is more. They'd shared the night together, but it had been the type of wild frantic sex she had probably had a hundred times before him. Completely in control, predetermining every move; physically in the moment, but where had she been? He had had no complaints at the time; it had been exactly what both of them craved. Physical release. But now… now that his anger has gone, his frustration dissipated, he has to admit that there is more. He wants her, but not just the outer shell; he wants her whole.

Without warning he pushes himself up and on top of her, her eyes widen and he knows she's surprised when his lips lightly brush against hers, not in the frantic brazen way she's expecting, but slow light lingering brushes, deepening with each new touch. She doesn't like it, or maybe she doesn't want it, he's not sure for she struggles against him, demands the frantic, the empty, but he denies her access, pulls back every time she pushes for more. One of his hands slides down, encloses around her breast, and he starts massaging her nipple with his thumb. A low moan resonates in her throat and she squirms beneath his touch.

'What are you doing?' she asks, almost accusatively, but it comes out as a whimper for his hand slides further down now.

'Making it so that it means something this time,' he whispers in her ear.

She stills beneath him, then tugs him back to face her and stares him in the eyes. Cold anger incarcerates him.

'It won't,' she says and pushes against his chest, hard. He falls onto his side, almost too stunned to respond.

'Do you really expect a queen to fall for a common outlaw such as yourself?' she mocks and shakes her head; dark laughter reverberates around the room before she continues:

'Listen to me because I'm only going to say this one more time: it meant nothing and even in your wildest fantasies it will still never mean anything.'

He stares at her, it takes a moment for him to absorb the sudden shift in her demeanor, but he still catches the flicker, the flicker of doubt that slips between the cracks of that detestable mask she wears every time she tries to push him out. And as she attempts to hide it, sits up and pulls away from him, he grabs her, pins her arms on either side of her head and softly brushes his lips against her neck.

'What do you think you're doing?' it comes out as a throaty whisper, caught off guard, he is sure. But he keeps quiet, answers her question only with feather light kisses, starting at her jaw then down to her collarbone, and he knows the lack of resistance on her part proves the very point he is trying to make.

'I don't believe you,' he whispers and dips down lower.

'I know you like me, your majesty,' he breathes against the side of her breast and she squirms when his mouth closes over her nipple,

'I can tell.'

'I don't,' she hums with eyes closed and it doesn't sound sincere at all.

'Then what have you got to lose?' he challenges.

She's never been touched like this before. Doesn't remember the last time anyone wanted to touch her in such a way. Nobody ever has - not even Graham, not like this. Robin's tender kisses, reminiscent of the ones she shared with Daniel so long ago. She remembers, knows what it feels like to be caressed, but again, not like this. His hand slides over her other breast, resumes its earlier course downward, skims across her side, her hip, then tentatively slithers towards her inner thigh and she knows what his intentions are, but she tells herself she doesn't want it, quells the burning desire that screams for his touch there.

'No!' she gasps and grabs his hand, he's already slipped one lone finger inside and she's so wet, excruciatingly so, but she doesn't want this. She doesn't.

He pulls back slightly; alarmed by the hint of panic in her voice, and then, when he looks at her, she knows he knows.

She pushes against his chest, heat flushing her face as she turns her head away from him. But he is stronger, holds her captive while he hovers over her and she's embarrassed. She can't recall the last time she's felt that way, and it angers her; she's angry, for he's trotted past a well guarded line she has never let anyone cross before.

'Don't be alarmed, milady,' he whispers in her ear and an involuntary shiver runs down her spine. 'You're safe.'

She turns her eyes back, his expression kind, void of pity and she realizes he understands, understands something she doesn't even fully comprehend herself, but he does and maybe she is safe. Maybe she can let go. For this one time.

He smiles and strokes the side of her face with such cautious gentleness it knots her insides in ways she's not sure she is comfortable with. But his eyes are so blue, so kind; she's not noticed the kindness before and it strikes her as odd that he's this way when nobody is, not with her. Yet, he doesn't turn away like Graham used to do when he half willingly, half reluctantly obeyed her commands. Not Robin. Robin holds her gaze, lets her have that moment she needs to gather her thoughts. He won't force her; she knows. Not like Leopold, because Robin is not like that, he's no king, has no want for an heir.

And he's still caressing her, slides his hand up into her hair.

She swallows, closes her eyes, battling the desire to push him away, but he's distracting, chases her ever thought while his hand slides down to the back of her head, then gently nudges her upward, brushes his lips to hers, softly, almost hovering and he's already crossed lines, broken rules, defied laws, has reached further than she's ever allowed anyone access to, so what does it still matter, her mind reasons. She does like him. Likes him more than she wants, likes him so much that hating him had come naturally. In fact, the more she grew to like him the snarkier she had become around him.

A frustrated noise escapes her, vibrates against his lips and then she slips. She lets the suffocating hold slide for just a moment while her lips part beneath his. And he knows he's won, that a second will turn to minutes and that minutes may slip further into immeasurable moments and he smiles against her parted lips before he answers her wanting cry, and then he's kissing her. Slow, languid kisses, that set her insides on fire and he swallows each moan that finds its way past her lips. And she blames the flipping and twirling sensations in her stomach on the unknown, for she's not accustomed to such passion.

His fingers, so nimble, so excruciatingly set on continuing what they started, move downwards again. But she doesn't notice, she's too drenched in all that is him and all that is her and what lies between them, and only when she feels one of his fingers slip between her folds does she gasp and break away. But she doesn't pull back now, meets his gaze with stern determination as he slides a second finger inside and she can't help herself, another moan resonates against her lips, struggles to be heard and her legs reflexively spread wider, granting him easier access. His fingers slide deeper, slick against her walls and it's his turn to groan. His head lolls against her neck, his teeth scrape against her skin there, and she's not sure if she can take much more of this. Part of her is still reluctant, doesn't understand why what she's feeling seems unique in a way it shouldn't.

'Enough,' she pants; a whisper on labored breaths.

But it's not enough, she knows it, wants more now than she's bargained for and her body betrays her, moves in time with his thrusting fingers inside her. He knows it's a lie; his fingers drenched in her juices, flowing still, and he pretends he doesn't hear while his lips travel down to the valley between her breasts. He kisses her there, soft fleeting kisses, moving further down to her belly, making her pant more heavily, her hands pushing at his shoulders. He needs to stop, it's too much. But he's not discouraged in the slightest, dips lower, out of her reach and before she realizes what's happening he's between her legs, sucks the nub that lies buried, deep into his mouth, his fingers pushing harder, faster in and out and she can't control her body's responses, an unexpected cry rips from her throat as she squirms and bucks beneath him, a thousand different sensations shooting through her body.

'Too much,' she pants and tries to wriggle her way from under him, but he stops her, his free hand on her hip preventing her from moving away while overwhelming sucking turns into blissful tongue strokes and she can't deny she likes this. All of it, each new stroke makes her wonder why she's never allowed anyone to slip between those cracks and have her come panting and wanting for more, head between her legs, for it's mind-blowing.

_Because it would complicate your position_, an unwanted voice whispers and that's the truth of it. But position be damned. A third finger joins the other two, moves deeper in and then out again, faster, while his tongue continuously strokes upward and back over that sensitive nub and she can feel the tension build there, her inner walls clasping tighter around his fingers, screaming for release, climbing higher and higher, her breaths coming in shorter and shorter pants and she feels it, she's almost there... and then he's gone, pulls away completely, abruptly. She let's out an involuntary cry, her eyes fly open, her frustration palpable while her whole body throbs for that promised release.

'What–?' she starts but he's already recaptured her lips, muffling the sounds of her angry protests. His tongue sweeps inside and she can taste herself, it makes her shiver, more red hot wetness slips down her legs and it's embarrassing, but she's beyond embarrassment now, only cares for that high he's denied her. She pushes against his chest, fights for the control she's so timidly handed over, but before she has the chance to reassert her position she feels him hard and pressing against her inner thigh. He grunts inside her mouth, reaches down, his hand closes around his own wanting flesh and he pushes himself inside of her. She groans her approval, almost forgets that she's annoyed with him. She nicks his lip, tastes blood, and he grunts louder into her mouth. Her back arches from the bed, wanting more, wanting him deeper, and it's not at all like the night before. Every movement more intense than the one before, more wetness slivers from between her legs, she feels it all, magnified by a million.

He breaks away from her mouth, hums into her ear, his lips pressed behind her earlobe, but he doesn't move, stays perfectly still inside her.

'Tell me this means something,' he whispers.

She shakes her head, bites down on her bottom lip and then bucks beneath him instead. Hard, encouraging. He lets out a low hiss; he's tempted she knows, but not tempted enough for he remains resolutely unmoving.

'Say it,' he repeats.

'Never,' she says and then hooks one leg around his upper leg and quickly rolls him onto his back; regaining that lost control.

His eyes widen in amused surprise, his mouth splitting into a wide grin beneath her, and she starts moving relentlessly. He lets out a loud moan and his hands fly to her hips; slowing her, guiding her, preventing her from moving faster, harder, meaninglessly hard. He wants more, he wants more than meaningless from her and it frustrates her. She can't give more, is uncomfortable with more, but then she's already in so deep, is feeling more than she has ever felt before. His thumb slips between them, rubs where she feels renewed tension building again and her eyes flutter shut, her head rolls to the side, shaking no. no. no. He sits up then presses his free hand to her back, pushing her closer to his chest, his parted lips against her forehead, panting heavily, meeting her thrust for thrust.

'I know you feel it too,' he whispers, then thrusts harder, rubs faster and she nips his shoulder, bites down, still shaking no.

'Look at me,' he demands.

She refuses, doesn't answers anyone's orders but her own, but he nudges her chin upward, rubs her harder and more forcibly and she cries out, looks up into his eyes as she rises higher and higher, panting heavily. He shifts beneath her, hits a spot inside her, the same one he'd inexorably found the night before and she doesn't know how or why but it adds to the friction, triples her desire and she's close, so close; one last stroke, his eyes imprisoning hers and she breaks, falls over the edge, clenches around him while another cry flows past her lips and she can't hold his gaze, her eyes roll down, land on his wrist and there on another wave of ecstasy while spasm after spasm wracks her body, she sees it, a lion tattoo, glowing brightly in the early morning sun.

'No,' she shudders on the remnants of her orgasm, but he's moving faster now, pounds into her, hitting that spot inside her all over again and she can't think, can't panic. His weight too pressing, she falls backward, him on top. He groans when her back hits the mattress, but he doesn't falter in his resolve, kneads her breast with one hand, sucks the other into his mouth, and with one last final stroke and a heavy cry he too goes rigid, finds his own release inside her on a wave of ecstasy while she lies conflicted, alarmed and torn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Added another chapter. Seems like this story is developing some sort of plot now, though it probably will end up containing a hell of a lot of smut in future chapters. Any and all thoughts are appreciated.**

* * *

She pushes against his chest.

'Get off me!'

And he's still inside her, growing softer and she can't wrap her mind around how she could have let this happen. The lion tattoo. How had she not noticed that dark stain on his wrist the night before? Every inch of them naked and she'd missed it. Stupid.

'I said get off me, _thief_!'

He protests loudly, looks her in the eye, fierce confusion sprouting from them then he pushes himself up and slowly slips out of her, his eyes still trained on hers and she shudders, her heartbeat doubles and maybe this is why she's attracted to him; he's as inexorably stubborn and short tempered as she is.

'As your majesty wishes,' he whispers in her ear through gritted teeth, then falls onto his back, not moving away, but not touching either.

And though she regrets her words she needs to put him in his rightful place. She needs to, for suddenly nothing is the same anymore. That long forgotten tattoo. The mystery man it belongs to. She had pushed the memory to the back of her mind, for she isn't one to linger on roads not travelled. The man in the tavern, the life she hadn't chosen, she had no regrets. In the end all of her choices had led to Henry's existence and for that reason alone she would put herself through hell and back again and again if she had to. Always: for Henry. And if it hadn't been for Tinkerbell, if they hadn't met again in Neverland, she never would have given this man; this thief, another moment's thought, but now….

Her eyes find his wrist again. It is _the_ lion tattoo. He truly is the man from the tavern; a thief. She scans the top of his torso, her gaze gliding downwards. How could a thief be her soulmate? The thought was preposterous. Idiotic. And even if he is, how had she not noticed before? She'd always imagined that she would instinctively know if ever she ran into that man again. But maybe her mind had known all along, maybe she had just been too blind to take note of the signs. No. She hadn't intended for any of this to mean anything, had never thought, had never assumed for one second, yet here he is and she can't deny that it meant something. She feels it, even now. He managed to crawl under her skin and the way he made her feel only moments ago; sex had never felt that way before. And she has to keep telling herself that he is just a distraction. That she is using him so that for a moment she doesn't have to live with that gaping hole inside her heart where her son used to reside.

'Leave!' she says, a slight quiver in her voice, but either he truly doesn't fear her or he simply doesn't care for he turns onto his side and sweeps his eyes over her naked body before leaning his head on his hand.

'No.'

He stretches out his other hand and before she can stop him, he lovingly tucks a loose strand of long dark hair behind her ear and smiles.

'That was incredible,' he says. 'And you know it.'

She shakes her head, pushes his hand away and wraps the sheets around her slim figure, not because she's suddenly ashamed, not because she's suddenly become shy but because it can't mean anything. And she could use magic, she could cast him from her side with a mere flick of her wrist, but for some reason she can't find the strength within her to do so, and it only serves to confuse her further.

'LEAVE! NOW!' she bellows, reinserting walls that feel comfortable, pushing back masks on top of more masks. It's so much easier that way. She can't deal with the emotions, can't deal with him now, not when fate has yet again toyed with her life in ways that are too preposterous to be real. Turning meaninglessness into something she hasn't even asked for, doesn't want. All she wanted was to forget, to find another Graham in this Robin Hood, but fate wouldn't hear of it. Needed to taunt her again and again. But no. Not again.

And then a sob escapes her. A horrified dreaded sob, her own body's betrayal too appalling for her to comprehend and for a moment she doesn't even realize the sound came from between her own two lips. And when she does she can't escape it, can't push herself away, put a mile between herself and this man she doesn't even know, for his arms wrap themselves around her and he whispers; whispers kind words; comforting words in her ear. He understands. Understands what she's afraid of even when she doesn't even fully understand it herself.

'Just let it out,' he whispers while he rubs her back and kisses the side of her face with such tenderness that the pain proves to be impossible to contain. And it's too much. She reflexively buries her head in his neck, digs her nails into his back, while silent sobs - tears for all that she has never felt or had – wrack her body; tears stick to his skin and hers; a slick mess between them. But if he minds he doesn't say so, instead slowly slides back down, props himself up against the pillows, while her hands slide back to his chest, her face still pressed to his neck and then his hands slowly slip between the sheets, start rubbing up and down her bare back and it feels so good. She can breathe a little easier, feels a little lighter.

'I miss him,' she finally whispers after what feels like hours. 'I miss him so much.'

He nods, his stubble scrapping along her temple.

'I know.'

He kisses the top of her head. And it's silly for they're just two words, two meaningless words and yet she believes him. He knows. He knows what it's like to miss someone so much that it physically hurts to breathe, move or even exist. And that knowledge ignites a warmth deep within her that starts in the pit of her stomach and spreads all the way to her fingertips. She pushes herself upwards, ignores the surprised look in his eyes and then crushes her lips to his, not caring any longer, just wanting to forget again, wanting to feel anything but that emptiness.

One of his hands slips into her hair, the other pressing her back closer to his chest and then she feels it, deep within her core, an explosion of a million tiny sensations fluttering around in her stomach, poking holes inside and clenching her stomach together in ways she has not felt her body respond to a kiss since a certain stable boy stole her heart all those years ago.

He feels the change, groans into her mouth and shifts closer.

And it only takes a moment before they're upright again. Kissing frantically, without inhibitions. The sheet slips from her body, skin against skin, so many delicious sensations ripping through her. Lips devouring lips, hands moving up her spine, then further down.

She pulls away.

Panting.

They both are.

'That was…' he shakes his head and stares at her and she immediately realizes her mistake. Nothing between him and her, every nerve and cell uncontrolled and wanting. Honest. Open. Meaningful.

'It means nothing,' she insists, her demeanor growing dark again. She can't do this. She can't. And then she flees. Shakes her head, pulls away, throws her hands into the air and disappears into a cloud of purple and black smoke before his stunned eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

He stumbles over the threshold, his feet bare; cold beneath the smooth dark castle tiles, while his eyes scour the bright morning lit halls. He struggles to button his pants up while his unbuttoned shirt flaps behind him in the dense air that propels him forward. That and his determination to find her. He passes a young servant girl on her merry way to run some errand or another and when she notices him she takes a few hurried steps backward in alarmed surprised, but no matter, he brushes past her without blush or shame. He must look completely haggard and unwashed, but really, damn royal etiquette, damn it all. He needs to talk to her, as much as she needs to talk to him, even though she doesn't want to, and he just can't wrap his mind around it. What makes her different? Any other woman he would not have chased, not like this. She makes his blood boil with anger, his head beat with rage and yet. Yet, he's incredibly drawn to her still. It doesn't make sense. _She_ doesn't make sense. And despite it all, no matter how many of his men give him suspicious glances and speak in whispered tones of his interactions with the 'Evil Queen' he can't help but be blind to all that she used to be. He looks into her eyes and she is someone he's known, even though he never met her before the curse, before her 28 year rule in this town they all refer to as Storybrooke. He's never met her. Yet, her eyes, her eyes he knows.

'Robin?' a dazed voice speaks from behind. He abruptly halts and turns around.

'Princess Snow White,' he says, recognizing the pregnant woman in front of him. And as though royal etiquette suddenly does matter in the presence of an actual princess, his hands automatically fly to his undone shirt and starts buttoning it close for good measure.

She frowns, her eyes scouring up and down his unconventional exterior, but then a smile creeps up her face when realization dawns onto her.

'My apologies, princess, I seem to be unsuitably dressed,' he stammers, embarrassed now.

One of her hands flies to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the smile that has formed there but she fails and to his surprise she remains abrasively shameless in his undressed state.

'If I may be so blunt,' she says. 'You seem to be in quite a hurry this morning. Who is it you are looking for, Mr. Locksley?'

And though he could lie, he could tell her that it's one of the servant girls he is chasing, he doesn't want to lie. He has no issues with his feelings for her, wants to, in fact, tell the whole world and it's then he realizes that he might be in more deeply than he ever imagined possible.

'I'm looking for the Queen, your majesty,' he inclines his head towards the princess, whose expression suddenly shifts to confused surprise.

'The Queen?' she shakes her head. 'Regina?'

'Have you seen her perchance?' he retorts, ignoring the disbelief in her eyes.

'I – I' Snow stammers and shakes her head again.

'Regina? Really?' she asks, her eyes travelling up and down his torso once more with renewed curiosity. And he understands her disbelief. Up until yesterday they couldn't stand the sight of each other and now he's standing haggardly dressed before the princess, reeking of sex and sweat, inquiring about the Queen.

'I can't say I have,' she finally says after another moment, her attention returning to his questioning eyes.

'But I'm meeting her in the courtyard later this morning and if you–.'

'The courtyard?' he cuts in and without waiting for a formal invitation adds:

'I'll be there.'

A beat and she stares at him, but then she nods, understanding dawning as her surprise seeps away; replaced with concern.

'Robin,' she hesitantly begins. 'If this is some devious ploy to get back at her –'

He blinks, taken aback by the princess's bluntness.

'With all due respect, your majesty,' he cuts in. 'The Queen is not the one running around the castle indecently dressed, if there's talk of a devious ploy in one form or another I am certain the Queen would not be its victim.

Snow looks at him, stares deeply into his eyes as though she is trying to gouge the severity of the situation in its depths. And even though it takes a moment for her to analyze what she sees there, eventually a sad smile appears on her lips and she nods.

'I'll arrive late,' she says. 'It'll give you an opportunity to talk.'

He bows, is grateful, and without further ado he turns around and stalks back to the Queen's chambers.

* * *

She's dressed regally. Regal black, her dark colors in perfect tune with the slight scowl that plays upon her face. But he only has eyes for her lips; such a bright shade of strawberry red. Her hair pulled into a tight pony-tale that cascades down her back in constrained agony. So poised and controlled, but for her eyes.

She doesn't notice him at first and he takes advantage of the opportunity; silently steps behind her the way he's learned to sneak up on unsuspecting rich men right before he'd rob them of their riches. But he's not here to steal her riches. He wants much more from her.

He intends to tap her on the shoulder, make her aware of his presence before he startles her, but in that very instance she stretches her back and leans her head slightly to the right, his eyes drift to her exposed neck, mesmerized, and before he knows it his fingers lightly touch her and softly skim down to her collarbone. She jumps away startled.

'What the–' she starts but then as her eyes land on him the words halt in her throat and she immediately turns around, intend on leaving.

'Wait, I'm sorry M'lady' he grabs her arm, but she yanks it back, seething through gritted teeth.

'What are you doing here?' she demands.

'How did you find me?'

'I'm a thief, remember?' he smirks and shrugs, but she's not impressed.

'Leave!' she commands.

'No,' he says and it's all too familiar.

'Not until we've talked about this.'

She laughs; a dark low rumble that bubbles up and away.

'There is nothing to talk about. We spent a meaningless night together and now I've grown tired of your presence, thief. We had fun. Fun is over now. Leave.'

'Meaningless?' he retorts and it's his turn to laugh.

'Stop lying to yourself, Regina.'

'Your majesty!' she bites back.

He steps closer, surprised she doesn't back down, her eyes spiting fire, fuelling his own anger and he's so tired of her denial; of those walls he keeps having to tear down again and again and those masks that slip when he touches her here and there and everywhere, and those locks around her heart he keeps picking like a cheap lock picker.

'Fine,' he shakes his head.

'If what I feel means so incredibly little to you then you won't mind us leaving in the tomorrow,' he takes a step back, defeated.

'I wish you all the luck in the world, your majesty and I truly hope you manage to obtain all that your heart desires.'

He turns around and starts walking away, but then her voice captivates him and he stops, and though he'd hoped for similar words to sprout from her lips, he's still surprised when he hears it.

'Wait,' she says and he turns around.

'Don't leave,' and its in her eyes again, that vulnerability she manages to hide so well around others and for a while even him, but not now.

'I don't want you to leave,' she whispers.

He takes two long strides back, grabs both her hands in his and forces his eyes onto hers.

'Then tell me I'm not imagining this.'

She shakes her head, closes her eyes and he can't help himself, needs to feel her soft skin against his palm and so he strokes her cheek with his straying thumb, stealing a moment when he shouldn't. Her breath hitches in startled surprise but she leans into his touch, breaks beneath his fingers once more and he knows he's pushed through again. But for how long this time?

'I'm in love with you,' he whispers and it's out before he knows it. Seven months of hatred, one passion filled night and morning and he knows it's true. A slow burning sensation born out of dislike but managed to cross that fine line over to infatuation and now it's even grown beyond that. And though she never once gave him the light of day, he observed her, watched her, felt for her and then feel irrevocably in love with her.

Her eyes fly open, bewildered fear flies across her features and he knows she wants to pull away, wants to put as much distance between herself and these feelings he's just openly expressed. And surely he's the one that's vulnerable now, put his beating heart on a platter to either be crushed or treasured, by the Evil Queen. The irony doesn't escape him.

He holds her in place with his eyes, refuses to break contact for she needs to know, but she looks positively petrified, an emotion he's scarcely seen on her face before.

'I don't expect you to share my feelings, m'lady. I only wish for you to know that not everybody in this realm thinks you evil, and that if you allow yourself to be more than you believe you are or can be, I'm certain you'd be capable of loving someone again just as much as I'm in love with you.'

She stares at him, a bright, unguarded sadness in her eyes and then without heat or warning she pulls him to her. Crushes her lips to his in such quiet desperation, that he can hear the choking sounds of her conflicted conscious rumble in her throat. And he feels her tears slip down his own cheeks. He pulls her closer, feels the genuine desire and affection emanate from her in full force this time, without reservation and he hopes he's finally torn her walls down for the last time. She stumbles backwards, gasps against his lips, but he catches her, one hand on her lower back, his other hand in her hair. Lips travelling down her neck, further down; down to her collarbone. His desire for her roughly pressed against her inner thigh and she loudly moans in response.

'It means something,' she chokes. 'It means so much more than something.'

And to hear her say that; to finally hear her acknowledge that she has feelings for him, exhilarates him beyond anything he's ever felt. And he kisses her again, with such feverish want it leaves both of them breathless, wanting more, and it's all he can do not to lift her up into his arms and take her right there and then in the courtyard for all the world to see.

'Uhm,' a foreign voice echoes in the air.

And he pulls back, maybe too slowly before looking to the side.

Princess Snow White.

'Snow.' Regina pants, her cheeks flushing an even brighter shade of red and she looks positively ravished.

'Sorry, I'm late,' the younger woman smirks and gives Robin a meaningful glance.

'Mr. Hood,' she nods.

'M'lady,' he nods back, returning her amused expression.

'I could come back later,' Snow continues, pointing half emphatically behind her, trying to suppress - and failing - a smile.

'No!' Regina cuts her off, sounding uncharacteristically tense and he can't help but feel a smug type of pride at the thought that he's responsible for her frenzied appearance and awkward behavior.

'Mr. Hood was just about to leave,' she gives him a dark look, daring him to state the opposite and he answers her with a smile before responding:

'Yes, I was indeed,' he nods and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth considering a rather bold move but then all consideration is lost when he throws caution to the wind, bends down and kisses her lightly on the lips, and to his immense surprise she doesn't pull back; no, she responds ever so slightly and it's enough. He knows they'll talk again. Maybe even tonight.


End file.
